Category Poem

How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful— How many cast a nameless Pod Upon the nearest Breeze— Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight— It bear to Other Eyes—

I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end— The Carmine—tingles warm— And if I hold a Glass Across my Mouth—it blurs it— Physician’s—proof of Breath— I am alive—because I…

How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine— I knew last night—when someone tried to twine— Thinking—perhaps—that I looked tired—or alone— Or breaking—almost—with unspoken pain— And I turned—ducal— That right—was thine— One port—suffices—for a Brig—like mine— Ours be the tossing—wild though the…

How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears— Whose Coat of elemental Brown A passing Universe put on, And independent as the Sun Associates or glows alone,…

How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom   Keeps making November difficult Till I who was almost bold Lose my way like a…

How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.

“Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm! Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!   “Many Mansions,” by “his Father,” I don’t know him; snugly built! Could the Children find the way…